Misha_Mosh

Jerry scratched at his wrist, the raised skin always irritated him especially when it first started growing. In the beginning it was on his chest, or, draws, honestly he was still confused about his 3D and 4D forms and their connection. Greenish-blue spots, patches of white fuzz, dark black speckles. It must have been wear-and-tear he had told himself. Signs of his constant use. Not mold. No, never mold. He swore up and down it was not mold. 

Mold meant something went bad, mold meant sick; and Jerry was not sick. At least- he tried to accept that fact; back then. He knew better now. It was mold. But he still wasn't sick. Not even when it grew into his lungs, across his stomach and now, starting to peak out from under his suit jacket. It wasn't that bad. Just a little water damage, and maybe that poptart from 2010, he did have an apple core. And gum wrappers. Napkins. But that wasn't his whole collection- there were plenty of mold-free things; thank you very much. 

Besides mold was bad, but you know what’s worse; termites. Jerry never had a termite problem, something some of the other objects couldn't say. So it was fine. Jerry was fine. Other than that; being outside of his collection upset him; his coughing fits became more prone. But no one had to worry about that- Jerry put distance between him and the others for that reason or, maybe others put distance between him? Well; Holly would ask for her flyers anytime they talked. It wasn't a problem, or his fault, she gave them out willingly; and Celia was constantly telling him to throw his collection away. All of it. He never understood why; if anything he hated the hypocrisy. Freddy kept his food. Holly kept her decorations. Koa had his couch treasures. Cam got to keep anything thrown to him! That was Jerry's theory, that Celia was working with Cam. After all, where else would his collection go if he were to get rid of it? To Cam. 

Jerry huffed to himself rolling his sleeve over the new blooming spots on his wrists, slowly creeping up to his fingers. Everyone had mold. It had to be. He wasn't special. Not that he could think of anyone off the top of his head that did; just as he should! Or, shouldn't. If he was hiding it that means everyone else was hiding it. Everyone had mold. 

*** 

No one had mold. Just Jerry. It was a small slip up, really, honestly. It was Sunday? Or, Friday? Maybe Monday? Jerry was never keen on the time, or date, anything of that sort. He had millions of planners but none of them were usable, their pages stuck together or already covered in stuff. But they could be used by someone else if not him; after all, the writing was there for some reason. Maybe a reminder? Or plans for the future, and the future could be tomorrow! 

The pipes burst in the living room. It’s an old house, probably. If Vaughn was to be believed. But it was the dead of winter. Something froze. It didn't matter when the morning started off with a thin puddle of water that spread across the room. It was a commotion for sure. The homeowner had made several calls no one responded to. The other objects were working on trying to quell the water’s spread. Jerry was one of them when he overheard Farya fussing over Florence about potential water damage. That’s when Jerry messed up; opened his mouth. “Oh mold isn't that bad” he tried to assure Florence, “ya it itches for a while but you get used to it, but it does hurt more when you try to take it off, so maybe don’t do that.”

He was met with a round, wide-eyed stare from Florence. Confusion, maybe fear? Something along the line of upset. 

“I don’t want mold jerry- mold is really bad for you.”

Farya was quick to agree, looking at Jerry with a raised eyebrow. "It is that bad Jerry, mold can grow within twenty-four hours because of water damage.”

Florence shuddered at Farya’s words, “that fast? Oh, goodness and there’s so much water. . .”

Jerry shook his head, a few crumbs falling as he did.

“Oh nonsense mold can’t grow that fast!” Jerry beamed, “it takes years for mold to become a problem, and it’s not that big of a problem really.”

Florence’s frown only grew deeper at Jerry's words, her comfort in the conversation weaning the more Jerry began to talk. Not that he noticed. He was never that good at noticing what others felt.

“Jerry, are you really trying to explain what mold is to a nurse in training?” Farya asked, tilting her head with pursed lips, unimpressed with Jerry. “Well, no but I-” 

“Then kindly, leave Florence to me. Please.” 

And Jerry did. Leaving the two to scour under the coffee table for any treasures that might be thrown out otherwise and that was that. 

Until it wasn't. When Farya entered his collection museum a few days later. At first, he was ecstatic, after all almost no one ever visited! He had straightened himself out as best as he could, nearly tripping over himself to show her the superman bandaids he had on display- she was a first aid kit after all! 

“I'm glad you’re excited to see me Jerry,” Farya smiled at Jerry’s enthusiasm watching the junk draw climbing over himself. When Jerry held out a small pile of used bandaids in different colors Farya raised her own in front of her, pushing his hands away from her face. “I'm not here for your collection Jerry.” 

Jerry frowned slightly at Farya’s words, lowering his hand sheepishly. “Oh uh ya.” he murmured, shoving his hands and bandages into his pockets. 

“Im actually here to talk about mold with you.”

Jerry frowned, tilting his head at farya’s words. “Mold? What about it?” Farya hummed, pressing her thumb to her chin, trying to find the right way to say things. “Well you seem rather knowledgeable about it, after what you said to Florence I am curious on how you know that.” 

Jerry paused, blinking owlishly at Farya’s words. Mold. What did he know? He knew a lot, he had a lot- like everyone else mind you! He had a rather interesting collection, maybe even new kinds of molds! He had never seen mold that was purplish orange before until he couched up some last Tuesday- the puzzle of Farya’s collection clicked together in his head. 

“Uh, well, it’s not because I have any- well, I-I mean I have some, in my collection! Not like, on me-” Jerry fumbled with his words tapping his fingers together, trying to look anywhere but at Farya. “Or-or in me! I mean my collection is in me- but not like, in-in me- i don’t have mold-that’s not a part of my collection! I-”

Farya stood there in front of Jerry shaking her head softly at his display of panic. He was a terrible liar, truly.

“Take off your shirt.” Farya said bluntly, causing Jerry to stutter to a halt, face growing pink.

“P-pardon?” 

Farya shook her head. “You know what I mean.” Jerry frowned, shaking his head quickly, waving his hands in front of him. 

“I mean I don't see how this applies to our conversation we were having before- but you know what does? Doughnuts! I got some munchkins from last October, all kinds! Even from the original packaging-” Jerry tried to elbow his way past Farya to reach the folded box. That was the wrong move. As soon as he reached his hand past Farya’s shoulder she grabbed his arm. The friction from the action pulled his sleeve back, nothing dramatic but enough to show what he was hiding. 

Farya’s eyes grew round staring at the blooming bubbles of green and pink mold too crusty to be considered anything remotely of a healing bruise. “Goodness Jear- that's not stellar, how long has this been going on?” Farya said, trying to keep her tone even, it was clear in Jerry's eyes he was about to tuck tail and run.

Jerry fell quiet. Maybe if he didn't respond, she’d forget. Honestly he had forgotten how long this has been going on. months? Years? 

His silence did nothing but confirm to Farya what she was thinking. She looked at jerry sighing softly, not letting go of his wrist. “There’s more.” she said it like a fact, not a question. Jerry lowered his head looking down at his shoes. He didn't want to say anything. He hated how easy it was to be read.

“Jerry-”

“Yes. ok? There’s more.” Jerry mumbled under his breath shifting his wrist, knowing it was futile, he wasn't going to escape Farya's grasp.

“How much more?” 

Jerry swallowed, his chest felt tight at the question. Just how much more? Lots more. How much was lots? 

“Jerry-”

“I don’t know. Farya I-I don’t know.” 

Farya didn't push, letting go of Jerry’s wrist. He was quick to recoil, his hand flying to his chest, holding his wrist in his other hand. Both were quiet. For too long. The kind of quiet that would make you able to hear when Bobby Pin dropped. 

“You’re not too far gone.” Farya quietly said, resting her hands behind her back, “even if you think you are, that you are consumed by that rot. You’re not. Just ask. It's not going to be pleasant, depending on how deep it’s gotten, but it’ll be worth it.” Jerry swallowed looking up at Farya as her words sunk in. How could she know? Maybe she diden’t, she diden’t know how deep it had gotten. Under his skin. He was partially tattooed with mold! But yet, her words, that promise. He wanted to believe it. 

“Even- if it’s skin deep?” 

His words were quiet and hoarse, refusing to make eye contact, afraid. He was afraid. Of the truth, of reality, of everything- 

“You aren't gone, Jerry. You hear that? Not on my watch, ok? No matter how bad it is. It will get better.” Farya’s words were too good. Too perfect. He didn't know if he wanted to scream, or cry, or even grovel. His breaths were shaky when he managed to make eye contact with the first aid kit, he was never a gambling object. He didn't want to change, to let go, to become something new- but everything hurt all over, he was tired of mold. He was tired of being sick. Maybe, just maybe. Things truly would get better.